


Count the Seconds

by hulklinging



Category: New X-Men: Academy X, Runaways (Comics), X-Men - All Media Types, Young Avengers
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Bullying, Gen, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, School Shootings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-23
Updated: 2016-05-29
Packaged: 2018-03-14 18:04:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3420365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hulklinging/pseuds/hulklinging
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In memories and instant media we relive it. In interviews and academic papers, we try to understand. A national tragedy feels distant until you live it. And for the survivors, they never stop remembering. Remembering who is no longer with us. And who is responsible.</p><p>For a day, shooters walk through the doors of Greymalkin High and right into the history books. But that's not the important thing, not really. What's important is who walks out, and who doesn't get a chance to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is something that I wrote and then debated on publishing or not.
> 
> In the end, I decided to put it up here, because I've plotted it out and I think I have a pretty interesting story to tell here. Also, this fic got under my skin and wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote it.
> 
> I have tried to do my research and respectfully distance this from any real life event. If there is something that you find in bad taste, please let me know. I am not trying to reference any historical event here. It's purely fictional. I don't want to upset anyone with this.
> 
> On that note, this fic is going to be quite graphic at times. Some things will be told in third person, during the shooting and in the aftermath, some things will be told in tweets made during the shooting, some in newspaper articles in the following months, and part of the plot does deal with some of the survivors meeting up years later. If you're worried about whether this fic will be safe for you or not, feel free to message me privately (or on my tumblr of the same name, if you'd like to be anonymous) and I can tell you if it will be. I will also include the names of the characters killed in the chapters where deaths do occur in the end note, in case you wanted to spoil that for yourself instead of walking blindly into that.
> 
> For those still with me after that long author's note, thanks for reading.

_How long can a minute last?_

_Breathe in. Breathe out. Don't make a sound don't make a sound don'tmakeasound..._

_The lights are out. It’s pitch black. Sounds take on a new meaning. Sounds mean death._

_Breath is rattling and wheezing, oh god someone will hear, someone will see the blood..._

_Suddenly, too close, too loud, a phone rings._

_A whimper escapes. Tommy, no, you idiot, hang up..._

_Footsteps outside of the locker. The phone rings on._

_A gun cocks._

_How long does a minute last?_

_How long can you hold your breath?_

 

>   
>  Afterwards, professionals will spend hours pouring over the empty halls. Every bullet is found and filed away. Every diary entry and tweet is analyzed. What drove them to do it? What were the warning signs? How do we stop it from happening again?
> 
> Eventually they will paint a complete picture, or as complete as they can. The media will marvel. The people will blame whatever they can. Gun laws. Support for troubled students. What would have helped. What if what if. Enough what its for every ruined life.
> 
> The world will see and they will make their own assumptions. In the following weeks, they will turn a tragedy into a spectacle, into some sick play everyone witnessed and wants to review. But the first thing the world sees is a tweet, posted at a quarter past twelve on a Tuesday in May.
> 
> It reads 'think I just heard a gunshot at #greymalkinhigh... Can anyone confirm?'
> 
> Less than five minutes later, @KateBishop, junior class president at Greymalkin High School, tweets again.
> 
> 'Shooters in #greymalkinhigh... Don't know how many. Silence phones, barricade doors... Hide. Just hide.'
> 
> The police won't declare the school clear until 3:46. In those few hours, the halls of this New York high school will witness one of the most brutal school shootings in this nation's history. The story is a fractured mess, and made frighteningly public by the social media aspect.
> 
> This is the first time that the story has all been in the same place. Perhaps, reader, it might help you understand that day a little better. Maybe it will highlight them all, the heroes and villains. But I know it just left me with more questions.
> 
> The thing is, we were all just children, really. All of us, no matter what we pretended to be.
> 
> This is dedicated to those of us who are children, still. Rest in peace.
> 
>                                  - **David Alleyne** , Survivor of the Greymalkin Massacre, in the foreword of his book, ' _Count The Seconds'_
> 
>   
> 

Tommy is taking his sweet time going back to school.

And why not? It's just English, and his brother is awesome at English, so he doesn't really even need to be there. Honestly, if they had the same hair colour, Tommy would have suggested them not ever mentioning that Billy had found his twin, and just splitting the classes between them. Tommy could do gym, and physics, and punching-bullies-in-the-face, and Billy could do English and History and like... Chess club or something.

Okay, Billy wasn't in the Chess Club anymore. But still. The point stands.

Tommy is just turning the corner onto the school's road when he hears the sirens. They seem to be heading his way, and he frowns. It would be just his luck for someone to think he was stealing while he was only skipping class. Rebecca would have a fit-

The pain hits him without warning, and he doubles over, gasping for breath. He half expects to pull his hands away from his stomach and see blood on them, but there is nothing there, of course. He's not injured.

The sirens are getting closer. Then, abruptly, they cut off.

No sign of any injury, but his hip is still aching. Which must mean...

"Billy," he breathes, and fumbles for his phone as he starts to run.

If those bullies tried something, if they hurt Billy, really hurt Billy, like his hip feels, he hasn't had this bad a phantom pain since Billy broke his arm in sixth grade, he's going to rip them to pieces. Fuck going about it the proper way. They were dead, fucking dead.

He's at the front of the school, his phone is to his ear and Billy's phone is ringing, ringing... What class does Billy have right now? He can't remember. He doesn't want to have to search the whole school for him. There are a few kids outside, looking strangely scared, but he doesn't have time for them, not right now.

"Come on, Billy, pick up..."

He's about to go inside when he hears a loud bang, like a gunshot. He realizes that there are others around him, and some of them are crying.

The police pull up. There are four cars. Immediately they storm out, start pulling the kids on the sidewalk away. Tommy shakes one off his arm.

"Wait, let me go, what's going on?”

More bangs. Like gunshots. Not like. Gunshots. Someone is shooting a gun in his school, the school Tommy is supposed to be in, right now. The school his brother is in, somewhere, hurt.

The next cop who pulls him back is harsher about it.

"A bus is coming to take you guys out of here. Please stand back until it arrives."

"No, my brother's in there, I have to go get him..."

"No one enters that building," says the cop, and they're trying to sound firm but the man's face is ashy and pale. He looks ill.

And that's when Tommy panics. He pushes the cop away, and the man almost falls, more out of surprise than anything. But Tommy's just a skinny teen, and the cop is twice his size. Before he has time to react, he's in cuffs and on the ground, head spinning, the pain in his hip fluxuating to his speeding heart.

He scans the faces of the kids who had already made it outside. There's not very many of them, only forty or so, and he can see another group, all in shorts, with a teacher at the front. A gym class. His brother is not in gym right now. His brother is not on the sidewalk with him. Neither is Kate, or David, or the blue haired girl in his Chem class who helped him make something blow up that one time, or the nice office lady who never marked him late, or the kid with the locker next to his. He doesn't even know his name. How messed is that?

"What's going on?" He asks the cop. He hopes that's what he says. His speech feels slow and slurred. How hard did he hit his head? "Why aren't you going in?"

"Shut up," is the only answer he gets.

Tommy is not good at shutting up. He is not good at sitting still. He squirms and tries not to think of what the last thing he said to his twin was. Tries to forget the fact that Kate had almost said yes, when he'd asked her out last week. Tries to ignore the memory of making oh so serious David laugh until he cried, yesterday at lunch.

His phone is ringing.

"My phone is ringing," he says. No one listens.

  


> @gunningforgreymalkin : good afternoon, #greymalkinhigh! Today's announcements: Let's play hide and seek. You all hide, and we pick you off one by one...
> 
> Accompanying this tweet is a photo of Topher Blake, face not covered, posing with his gun over the dead body of the principal, Mr. Charles Xavier. Within fifteen minutes of being posted, #greymalkinhigh is trending. The killers now have what they want: an audience.
> 
> - **David Alleyne** , _'Count The Seconds'_ , page 7.  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Deaths in this chapter: Charles Xavier


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The heroes of that day were the staff and students who did everything they could to get themselves and their peers out. I was just doing my job."  
> -Officer Carter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As with last chapter, character death will be spoiled in the bottom note. No specific warnings for this chapter that haven't been mentioned before. There are vague descriptions of wounds and death.

 

> "It takes the local police department thirty five minutes to arrive at the scene and set up a perimeter. Pulling up at that school, and seeing that the children that had gotten out were only just being loaded on buses, and that no one had attempted the doors.. My heart just sank. They were talking to my partner about 'containment' without even knowing what they were containing. They hadn't seen the photos. They had only just started taking statements. I... will admit. I let my anger show. I'm not proud of it."
> 
> The image of Officer Carter punching an officer who questioned her order to move closer to the building is still one of the most circulated photos of the last few years, and the rumour that the photo earned Carter a promotion is one she has never denied. She does think that the nicknames that spawned from the event, including ones like the Shield of Greymalkin, are silly.
> 
> "The heroes of that day were the staff and students who did everything they could to get themselves and their peers out. I was just doing my job."
> 
> -quotes taken from an interview with **Officer (now Assistant Director) Carter** , _The Blair Show_ , June 2013.

Kate Bishop is in the copy room in the office. It’s her spare block, which she usually spends in the library, or outside if it’s nice, but the secretary had a minor emergency, had to rush off somewhere, and so she and the Senior Class President (Ken Mack, she doesn’t know him well, but he’s nice and surprisingly grounded) both volunteered to take a turn. It’s a slow day, so she’s left making copies of yearbook advertisements and daydreaming about archery practice after school. The copier is a loud one, loud enough to mask footsteps as four people slip by the secretary’s desk, and into the offices.

Nothing is loud enough to mask the sound of a gunshot.

Kate flinches, and stares at the door, slightly ajar. She’s trying to think of something else it could have been, but she spent time on the gun range, before she fell in love with a slightly more traditional weapon. She knows a gunshot when she hears one. Almost on autopilot, she flips open her phone, tweets about the gunshot. Maybe it’s a prank. Maybe it’s the autoshop students messing around again.

The second one is even more clear, and she realizes how close they sound. Like they’re coming from Mr. Xavier’s office. She lets the copier keep running, and tiptoes to the door, her heart in her throat.

Voices. Ones she should recognize, but in her panic it’s hard. They’re laughing. The sound of a camera phone, someone says he thought there would be more blood… Movement, like they’re exiting the office. Kate pulls away from the door, tugs it those last few inches so that it closes. It needs a key, to be opened from the outside. Kate reaches up, turns off the light, and listens to the sounds of the group walking past her. She’s shaking, sure they must have heard the door click closed, sure they must wonder about the sounds of the copier, which are thunderous in her ears. Nothing, though. She sucks in a breath, tries to fight back the panic, and reaches for her phone, again.

There are already a few responses to her tweet, nothing that offers any answers. Kate has been pushing school spirit, this year. Which means she has a good portion of the school body following her, waiting for her #Greymalkinhigh updates on yearbook sales, the junior dance theme, and whether their basketball team won in their tournament over the weekend. She feels sick. This is definitely not what they followed her for, although she guesses it’s a good thing, that she can warn this many people with a tweet. Her hands are shaking, but she manages to type out her warning, words that would go on to be repeated and reviewed around the world, but in that moment all she can think about is her friends, their schedules, where they are and if they’ll have their phones on them. She wants to call them, scream, warn them away, but that would be loud, for her, for them. She doesn’t know where the shooters went, or who they’re after.

Maybe they were just some kids unhappy with a grade. Sometimes school shooters are just interested in the faculty. Which isn’t a good thing, she feels immediately guilty for hoping that’s the case, but it would be the lesser of two evils, wouldn’t it?

There are already new tweets in the #Greymalkinhigh tag, and she clicks it, and finds herself face to face with the photo she heard them taking. Face to face with their dead principal.

She very nearly drops her phone, only holds onto it because that would be loud, and just because she heard them walk out doesn’t mean they won’t hear her phone crash to the floor. That answers her question, doesn’t it? No lesser of two evils here, there are shooters in her school and they’re gunning for them all.

In the darkness, clutching her phone like a lifeline, Kate Bishop tries to stifle her panicked sob, as the school around her erupts in panic.

 

> _@KateBishop : #Greymalkinhigh, stay strong. Don't mention your location, or take a photo. There are multiple shooters._
> 
> _@SisterGrimm : i’m sorry i yelled at you mom i love you okay i'm sorry_
> 
> _@kellerkillinit : this is so fucked up this is all some fucked up dream_
> 
> _@Patriotriot : #Greymalkinhigh DON’T GO NEAR THE GYM. SHOTS HEARD._
> 
> _@invisibleMaddy : i’ve never wished my name was real before now_
> 
> _@arcynicOL : Hey babe, if I get out of this, let’s elope. I expect flowers and for you to at least attempt to clean out the back of your van._
> 
> _@arcynicOL : I don’t know if I’m joking or not. Don’t do anything stupid, okay?_
> 
> _@gunningforgreymalkin : bang bang, my baby shot me down…_
> 
> (accompanying this is another photo, this time the shooter is not in the frame, but there is another body, blonde and female and clearly dead. There’s a pool of blood around her, but nothing to give away where in the school she was, or who she was)

Victor Borkowski hears the sound of running feet. Someone’s crying. This isn’t what he imagined at all. He’s a ball of anxiety at the best of times, prone to catastrophizing, so of course he has thought about what it would be like, if a shooter entered the school. He imagined stampedes, screaming, sirens. But after the announcement (Emma Frost, vice principal, queen of calm, terrorizer of students, sounding shaky and small as she utters the lockdown phrase, and then there is a gunshot, and the announcement ends), it’s been almost completely silent. Victor had been skipping class, hiding by his locker because gym class is not something he wanted to face that day. He should have just left. He thought about it, but decided it wasn’t worth the call home. He wants to go back in time, walk out those doors when he had the chance. Now he’s stuck, almost dead centre of the school, second floor. He considers trying the door of the nearest classroom, but he can’t bring his legs to stand, his body has betrayed him.

The running feet are getting closer.

There are two sets, and that doesn’t bode well. Are two people running together, or is one running from the other?

The first set rounds the corner. He recognizes her, remembers her name but little else. Andrea? She doesn’t see him, not yet. And then someone else comes around the corner, and suddenly bullets are flying down the hallway. He lifts an arm instinctively, tucks himself up against the wall as his ears ring. Guns are loud. He knows that, knows it’s a stupid thing to focus on when he’s being shot at, but they’re so much louder than he thought they would be. They are not, however, loud enough to mask the sound of a body hitting the floor. He flinches, and then cries out. His shoulder is on fire, his vision immediately threatening to go black. _Oh my god_ , he thinks. _I got shot._

Heavy shoes walk down the hallway, echoing. The bullets have stopped. He whimpers, he can’t look, he can’t stare his death in the face, he has fretted and feared this for so long and it’s coming for him and he can’t look-

The footsteps stop. Not close to him, not yet. He peeks out from the locker row that is barely shielding him from sight, and sees blonde hair in blood, and someone standing over her. Andrea. Who isn’t moving. And the shooter is… laughing. Standing over a body, laughing.

Victor is going to be sick. He’s going to vomit and then he’s going to die.

But maybe he doesn’t have to die right here. The shooter is still standing over the body, and he is close to the next hallway. If he can just… get himself moving. Just a few feet. Ignore the shoulder (his fingertips are going numb, which is not a good sign he knows this he reads WebMD on nights he’s too scared to sleep), ignore what will happen if he’s not quiet enough or quick enough. Drag himself to the corner, and around it, and then catch his breath, because his head is spinning and his eyes appear to have given up altogether.

He gets around the corner, just as he hears the shooter start to move again. He hears a whispered “Holy shit” from in front of him, and sees a pair of very big sneakers.

Of course. Of course he would run into this guy, because this is hell and he’s crawling through with one arm. He has about a hundred things to say, but only one is immediately important.

“Run,” he mutters. The shoes don’t move. “Run, idiot.”

He feels arms underneath him, and then he’s lifted up, and bridal carry probably isn’t the best option for his arm, but he’s not going to complain.

Santo picks him up like he weighs nothing, and then he runs.

> “The word ‘hero’ did not cross my mind, no. At the time, all I could think was ‘I am not doing enough.’ I do not think anything would have felt like enough.”
> 
> - **Vice Principal Emma Fros** t, in her first statement after the Greymalkin Massacre. Many students will go on record to say that Ms. Frost was the reason they got out of the school safely, although Ms. Frost herself refuses to go into details, even up until the time of this book’s publication. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Death -  
> Andrea aka Rubbermaid (Academy X)


	3. Chapter 3

 

> ****Captain Bradley** :** What no one ever wants to talk about is us. The survivors. We came out of this tragedy and suddenly everyone knew us. Everyone had cried with Cassie Lang. The whole world had mourned Nick Gleason. We got out of the hospital and everyone wanted to tell us they'd watched our heroics, again and again and again. Or they'd watched our failings, and wanted to tell us what they thought of our selfishness. Our cowardice. 
> 
> I remember I had someone come up to me and tell me that Laurie Collins had deserved to live more than me. That it should be her here, and not me. They didn't know me, had never met Laurie, but they thought that since they had watched us die, they had the right to say that. It was like we were a reality tv show. It was disgusting. While Victor [Borkowski] was fighting for his life in surgery, the world was watching the highlight reel. And everywhere, everywhere you look, the faces of the kids who shot us, killed us are being shown. They're celebrities. Everyone's talking about where they went wrong, who's to blame. Topher's giving interviews left and right. They're asking us too, sure, but if we say no because we don't want to relive the worst day of our lives, people look at us like we're trying to hide something.
> 
> Looking at all this, it's hard to believe that when some kid decides to copy Topher, or one of the others, people are still surprised. There are fan clubs for serial killers and school shooters. People step over the dead bodies of kids and go up to the people who put them there and ask them what they're thinking, how they feel. And then we act surprised when we realize that somewhere, some kids with a revenge notebook of their own had stopped to listen.
> 
> Did you know, when you google the Greymalkin Massacre, the first result is that first photo they took? I'm sure you're familiar with the one. Not the memorials to the victims, but that first taunt. What a way to be remembered.
> 
> **Interviewer:** Did the tragedy influence you to be where you're standing now? 
> 
> **Captain Bradley:** It's been five years. And every day, I wake up, and I remember. There's no walking away from something like that. It's in everything I do, regardless of if I want it there or not. Would I have ended up here, if I hadn't had to go through that? It's really hard to say for sure. This has been my goal for as long as I can remember. But if I hadn't ever had to experience the feeling of slowly bleeding out, scared to even breathe because someone might realize I'm still alive, I would be a different person. So maybe I'd be standing here, but it would be a different me.
> 
> **Interviewer:** Thank you for taking time out of your busy schedule to talk with us.
> 
> **Captain Bradley** : It's been five years. We... we deserve to be remembered. Not like we have been, not with all the sensationalizing and misdirected hero worship. The dead deserve to be respected. Not forgotten. That's all I want.
> 
>                        [ **Eli Bradley** is the youngest captain in the NYPD. His work with at-risk youth and juvenile delinquents is making a visible difference in the crime statistics. He is also a survivor of the Greymalkin massacre, which is still the deadliest high school shooting this nation has ever seen]

 

Karolina sits with her knees pulled tight to her chest, and tries to keep from hyperventilating. Her whole class sits in the dark, a few of the desks pushed haphazardly in front of the classroom doors. When Ms. Frost first called in the lockdown, she thought maybe it was some sort of drill. But the gunshot that finishes the announcement is still ringing in their ears when someone finds the photos.

They know it's no joke, now.

Beside her, Cassie gasps. "Another photo," she whispers. "I can't... I don't know who it is."

Karolina doesn't want to see it, can't get that photo out of her mind. But the not knowing is worse. She leans over Cassie to look. It takes her a moment to make sense of the photo at all, it's blood and blonde hair and she realizes the shooter must have had to stand in that pool of blood to get this angle.

The caption just reads _Not fast enough._

She's not sure if it's her or Cassie that's shivering. She knows it's her that's crying, bites back a sob that threatens to shake her apart. She stares at the long blonde hair, and knows Cassie sees the same thing. There is no difference between either of them and this girl. Another day, a different kind of luck, and that could be one of them. The photo would look just the same.

Karolina itches to reach for her own phone, but she knows if she does that she'll want to text her friends, to see if they're okay. Bad idea. Better to leave it tucked away in her pocket. Because maybe if she texts them, she'll hear back. Maybe they're all okay.

And maybe they're not.

She won't be the reason one of her friends is found. The phone stays away.

Not everyone realizes the danger. Somewhere in the room, a phone rings. The sudden noise makes a few students scream.

Their teacher, Mr. Pym, stands up. "Turn that off!" Something thuds against the door. More people scream. There's someone to Karolina's left who's started to sob.

"Turn that fucking thing off!"

"Shut it off!"

"Shut up! Shut up!"

Karolina and Cassie curl around each other, under their heavy shared table and hope that door stays closed.

There's another sound coming from the other side of the door, now. No more thudding. But somehow, what they can hear now is much worse.

Someone is crying.

Karolina moves to stand up, but Cassie grabs her arm, holding her in place. The pain of her nails digging into Karolina's bare skin is enough to ground her.

"Cassie," she whispers, half-pleading. Cassie is pale pale pale. She shakes her head.

Outside, the crying's getting louder, starting to form words. "Please," says the girl on the other side. Distress warps her voice, makes it impossible to be sure who it is. "Please let me in."

Mr. Pym takes a step towards the door, and then stops. He's in obvious pain, shaking his head and muttering to himself, just loud enough for Karolina to hear.

"Can't do it, can't do it, I'm sorry, God help me..."

Karolina can't listen to this all. She shoves herself out from underneath the desk, making Cassie scramble after her, since she refuses to let go.

"Hey," she says, loud enough for the girl to hear. "No one would lock down the bathrooms. There's one at the end of the hall. You can make it."

The crying hiccups to a stop.

"Thank you," the girl whispers, and then there's the sound of her running, quickly fading away.

Karolina thinks about that voice for a long time. It's the voice that most often stars in her nightmares, Karolina standing on one side of a door that won't open, and the mystery girl on the other side. In these dreams, sometimes Karolina can't speak, or the girl doesn't listen. Sometimes she gets up, ready to make that run for it, only for a gun to go off, and Karolina listens to the body hit the floor and knows she's next.

In reality, the girl runs, and after that, there is nothing. Karolina has no idea if she made it to the bathroom safely, or finds somewhere else to hide. Has no idea if Karolina's advice saves her or kills her. Maybe she's one of the dead, and Karolina goes to her grave each year without even knowing it.

She never hears that voice again.

 

>  
> 
> **INT. SCHOOL HALLWAY**  
> 
> A trail of bloody footprints lead down the hallway, away from camera. SHOOTER 1 and SHOOTER 2 enter, facing away from the camera. Both carry multiple weapons.
> 
> SHOOTER 1  
>  I hear someone down there. I'm going. 
> 
> SHOOTER 2  
>  Suit yourself. Just stick to the list. 
> 
> SHOOTER 1  
>  Don't worry. I will.
> 
> SHOOTER 1 follows the footprints around the corner and off camera. A girl screams. Camera goes dark. GUNSHOT.
> 
> \- an excerpt from Season 10, Episode 13 of long-running crime show NYX. Although it aired nearly four years after the Greymalkin shooting, most found it still much too similar to be appropriate. The writers have denied basing the episode on any particular real life events, but there are some details, such as the shooters having a 'do not kill' list, is unique to Greymalkin. The episode was included in the season 10 collection, but has not reaired since its initial release date. It remains one of the most highly-rated episodes of the show's history.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Deaths (both mentioned in name only) -  
> Nick Gleason AKA Wolf Cub  
> Laurie Collins AKA Wallflower  
> both of Academy X.


	4. Chapter 4

> _They won't see it coming. They never do. They're too worried about what the parents will say if they find out about the girls kissing in the locker room, or if the school teams make it to playoffs. They don't care about shit that matters. They don't do anything to help anyone. They don't care about where those bruises are coming from or why someone's crying, as long as they can still hold a pencil well enough to fill out their standardized test._
> 
> _It's disgusting._
> 
> _They all deserve to rot._
> 
> \- an excerpt from Kevin Ford's journal, dated two months before the shooting. One of the most often quoted pieces from the famous journal, which was uncovered from his locker. It isn't uncommon to see 'they all deserve to rot' on t-shirts or featured in graffiti.

 

Billy shouldn't have skipped class.

For one, he knows Tommy's skipping class too, because Tommy told him he was going to. Usually, they try not to skip the same block, because usually if both twins are missing the office decides to call his mother, and that never ends well for them.

But he just couldn't do it today. He had gone in, grabbing his desk before the bell had even rung, but the walls felt too close, even with the room still mostly empty. If he already felt like he was choking, he knew he wouldn't be able to handle his full class stuffed in here as well, whispering and passing notes and staring at him when they think he's not looking. He can already feel their eyes on him, and he can't do it, no way, which is why he's gone before the bell even rings, muttering some excuse that no one cares enough about to hear, and takes off.

The second reason he shouldn't have skipped class finds him at his locker. He had forgotten, the looming claustrophobia blocking out every thought but _get out get out of here get to somewhere with space and air_.

The second reason he never skips this block is because John Kesler has a free period. He's violently reminded of this when a large hand shoves him from behind. He crashes into the side of his open locker, twists so he can get his hands in front of his face, and his stomach drops when he's met with Kesler's grin.

"Don't touch me!"

Kesler has him boxed in, his backpack at his feet, the locker door making any escape he might hope for impossible. Kesler has one hand on the locker's edge and another on the door, and his smile looks sharp. A predator smelling blood.

"I thought that's what you were into. Dudes manhandling you." He moves, and Billy flinches, takes a step backwards. His heel catches the lip of the locker, and he tumbles backwards, hitting the back of the locker with a clang that echoes.

No, it didn't echo. That had been something else, something down the hall, maybe. Something that sounded bigger than a body hitting metal.

"What was that?" Billy asks, and Kesler laughs, takes advantage of Billy's distraction to kick his backpack away. Billy's still trying to place the sound when he realizes what Kesler's about to do. Pure panic adds strength to his limbs as he rights himself and throws his whole body against the door Kesler is shutting on him. Unfortunately, in a battle of pure muscle, Billy is easily beat. The door slams shut, and the click of the lock is deafening. Billy stares at Kesler through the tiny grates, and tries to keep the walls from closing in.

"No, Kesler please don't, let me out, please!"

Kesler beats one fist against the locker door, and Billy can feel himself starting to shake. This is his worst nightmare realized.

That sound comes again, and this time Kesler hears it too. He jerks away from the locker, trying to look casual, and Billy gasps for air and tries to tell himself that he's not hearing gunshots.

"What the fuck?" Kesler swears under his breath, and then raises his voice. "Hey! What the fuck's going on?"

There's no answer, just the sound of sure, even footsteps, getting closer. Billy has his face pressed against his small window, so he sees the moment Kesler's face shifts from his usual arrogance to an expression Billy has never seen him wear before. It's fear.

Billy's staring right at him when the bullet spray finds him, and he watches the blood bloom across Kesler's white shirt with a strange, out-of-body detachment. Shock, probably. He catches on a moment too late, pressing himself agains the back of the locker, one hand over his mouth as he bites back a scream. He hears the sound of Kesler's body hitting the floor, but the bullets don't stop. There's a sudden pain in his side, just underneath his binder, and his other hand goes to touch it on instinct.

His fingers come away wet, and now it's not just panic making his head spin. The footsteps are still coming, and there's not enough room for him to sit here, it's an upright coffin, and he hopes his whimpers are drowned out by the ringing of his ears, hopes the shooter's ears are ringing too.

Billy remembers reading somewhere that human vision actually switches to black and white, when there's not enough light. But he thinks that can't be true, because he can barely see his own hand in here, and the blood is bright red.

The footsteps stop, right in front of his locker, and Billy drags a second hand to cover his mouth. He thinks he might be crying. He locks every joint in his body and closes his eyes and pretends he doesn't exist. Maybe this is the time it will work, maybe he'll get lucky for once in his life and this will be the moment that someone out there decides to grant him invisibility, just for this moment, just long enough for the footsteps to walk away.

Maybe it works, too. Billy's sure that if the shooter looks over, he'll see him. There's a bullet hole in the metal, and that's why the blood looks so red, like a spotlight on him _please don't look don't see me don't make a sound_

Somewhere in front of him there is gurgling, an awful sound, and his brain fills in the scene. Kesler on the ground, struggling to breathe or talk. He can't hear any words, just that terrible noise, and then there's one last gunshot, and the noise is gone.

"Good riddance," says Nate Richards. The footsteps head away again, and Billy lets himself relax, just a little, lets one hand fall to put pressure on the wound again.

Only once the footsteps have completely faded away does Billy Kaplan let himself fall apart.

 

> _A voice on the PA warns us death is coming_
> 
> _hist finger on the trigger stalking the halls_
> 
> _years after the slaughter I still hear the footsteps_
> 
> _Every room I enter there's blood on the walls_
> 
> _Yeah, every room I enter there's blood on the walls._
> 
> \- a verse from 'Best Years Of Our Lives', the haunting single from Jay Guthrie's award-winning first album _Icarus._ Jay Guthrie is arguably the most famous of the Greymalkin survivors, both for his music and for his role as the founder and face of the Greymalkin Memorial Foundation, a nonprofit charity that aims to raise awareness of gun violence in schools, in the name of those who have lost their lives to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Death - John Kesler


End file.
